And the waiting was long, But the send-off - was short though... And the friends wished me: "Wow! All the best on your roads!" And four countries have drawn Their ways eyes before, And four borders arose With the bars high upwards. And the shadows dark Of the passing-by birches Voluntarily lied under wheels, The highway dimly shined, As the bayonet, pointed Sharply into the heavens, indeed. The eternal condemned flies - mosquitos - Got smashed up just in front of my nose, And the windscreeníd become as the picture Of the artist Dahli, widely famous.         Muddled thoughts so lazy were beating In my head-crown roughly in turn, Shook my mind so crazy - letís spit them! And the war time had entered inwards... Time, whichís mixed up with blood, no doubt... To the cab entered eyes in the bandages, And they asked: "Where are you? To the west? Turn back now!" But I kept silence... Bullets scratched Over covering... Iíve heard the scream: "Lie! Bombs! Be careful! Here!"         And the highway had gone... This the true only channel... And the trunks of the firs Were without the cut tops by mines, The illusive such flow Had bypased the radiator. And the whole dayís way Wasnít in progres at all. Iíve slept at the wheel, Iíve languished to yawning. What to do: to pinch ear, Or to rub eyes to open? Suddenly Iíve seen In my car the foot sergeant: "Ho! Itís a trophy thing!" - he said, - "It is easy to sit". We did eat with the sergant the cutlets and radishes. He surprised with such food while the war-time. "I had, brer" - he said, - "eaten eight days in Minsk previously. Go then, thanks! May be Iíll have a look in some time..." He had gone to the east With the depleted detachment... And again the quiet peace Entered cab through the plating. This time glanced With the only one woman eyeís look, She said silently: "Are you tired? Please, rest. Iíll replace you". All is right, and at last weíre two now. We are going to border... Thirty years divide These strange meetings, although... The car brushed ran up, Washed the windscreen, and there Weíd seen the road signs - caution for us. There was nothing on road, besides the pits and bumps rare, Which resemble the war. Only the so young trees... But it seemed to me that two huge bayonets appeared, And had slashed with a cold on my shivering skin... On this straight speedway Iíve minded, Though never been fighting, That Iíve been at the war... And the highway was then The grey bayonets sharpening, And the raggs of the swastikas Dangled on this bayonet.
© Lyudmila Purgina. Translation, 2011